


your life is a sheer gift

by GStK



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunters, Intersex Character, Multi, Nonbinary Character, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:15:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24458800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GStK/pseuds/GStK
Summary: you are the candle burning until the end of the universe.
Relationships: Helel Ben Sahar/Lucilius (Granblue Fantasy), Lucilius/Lucifer/Belial (Granblue Fantasy)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 24





	your life is a sheer gift

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheHangedMan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHangedMan/gifts), [doegred](https://archiveofourown.org/users/doegred/gifts).



> This work features trans character physicality and brief misgendering. Please be aware and stay safe.

They tied him to an apple tree.

An apple tree. Certainly, he was no stranger to the irony (or, significance in meaning; the difference between the two was only a matter of perspective). They bound up his hands in and around the old wood, and he stared up into the boughs. They would try him here, on this hill, against an apple tree-- a tree that bore fruit every year.

What a waste of a tree.

People surrounded him; his jury. The men were speaking against him. The women made the sign of the gods against him. Between their petticoats, their small children clung to their legs, peeking out. Their eyes had long since lost the curiosity of newness. They were only here for the spectacle.

The men of Aegina, as this island was named, read him his wrongdoings. “You are accused,” said the one of greatest stature, a Draph with black hair and combed beard, “Of not having the fear of the gods within you, but making familiar with the enemy of the divine, the crimson beneath. You are accused of making yourself a host to the chaos and the crimson, and performing unholy acts against the body of Inanna ras Shamra, a beloved and most faithful servant to the divine. You have heard the deeds weighed against you.”

The Draph took a long breath, concluded, “Juno dei Consentes. Is it true that you are a witch and have performed these vile acts?”

Biting the inside of his mouth was hard. Not rolling his eyes was harder. With the calmest voice a man on the precipice of death could muster, Lucilius replied, “No, I am not.”

There was a pause.

The Draph supplied, with judgement in his eyes, “Your Honour.”

Lucilius did not echo him. The crowd gave a stir. He heard, or perhaps he thought he heard, a slight tinkle of laughter.

The Draph gave a soft sigh and continued. These trials were commonplace. The sun was setting, and it cut a perfect angle, framing Lucilius in the evil red. Meanwhile, Lucilius had to squint to keep the burst of light out of his face.

“Is it true you have consorted with the crimson?” asked the Draph.

“I have not.”

“Is it true that you have, many times, entered the forbidden woods by nightfall?”

“I have.”

A positive answer stirred the crowd. Irritating, the whole lot of them. 

“Is it true that you exited the woods at sunrise hours before the discovery of devout Inanna’s body?”

“It is true.”

Another clamour. The Draph waved his hand to silence the growing tremours of intrigue.

“Is it true that you made acquaintance with devout Inanna the very first time only two suns ago, shortly before she was found dead?”

The questions were turning dramatic. Everything -- the people, the atmosphere, the roughness of the ropes chafing his wrists -- was beginning to try the last of his patience. “It is true,” Lucilius said, to the gasp of several womenfolk.

While the Draph sought to shush the crowd again, Lucilius scanned the faces he could see through the sundown light. There -- yes, there. There stood the mother of Inanna ras Shamra, with her golden hair and blue eyes, studying Lucilius with unconsolable fury. To her side was her husband. He was unremarkable -- a shepherd. The two of them felt they had lost a daughter. Lucilius stared at them, and he challenged them with his eyes. Inanna was no daughter, but they would not understand.

“There is a witness,” said the Draph, drawing Lucilius’ attention sharply. There had been no witnesses. Yet, the man continued. “Please step forward, devout De La Fille.”

The noble’s daughter came forward, glittering in the dying sun. When the Draph had nodded to her, she bowed her head and offered her words. “I am not well acquainted with the lady Juno. She lives divorced from our township. However, I have seen her, many times in my search for the gems in the rocks near the forest, uttering dark curses. I have observed her return from the forest covered in blood. I have witnessed the strangeness of her eyes.”

The Draph nodded. “What strangeness, devout De La Fille?”

“Observe her eyes,” claimed the woman. Uncomfortably, the Draph came to close the distance between them. Though Lucilius turned his chin, the Draph gripped it between his mighty fingers, peering into his face. De La Fille said, “Her pupils are not of a holy colour. They are white, Your Honour.”

The Draph affirmed, loudly, to the people, “It is true. Her pupils are white.”

Lucilius dropped his head. It was not out of any shame, but rather to study the kindling that had already been gathered at the base of the tree. His fate was sealed long before they knocked at his door.

“Juno dei Consentes. You have confirmed the evidence that you knew of the devout Inanna; that you were observed leaving the forest where her remains were found; that you are of an unnatural appearance. A witness has purported to hear you speaking curses. Is it true that you are a witch?”

Looking up, Lucilius replied, flatly, “No. I am not.”

The Draph harrumphed and De La Fille withdrew, making the motions of prayer against her sparkling bosom. “What do you offer in your defence?”

Finally. Lucilius straightened his back against the apple tree and said, with the tone of a man educating the willfully ignorant, “I am not a witch. I am an _alchemist_.”

Outrage. The people had decided he had confessed. The Draph shut his eyes, as if collecting himself. What an utter farce.

“Juno dei Consentes. You are judged hereby to be guilty of consorting with the evil and the crimson; of being a witch by confession; of murdering the daughter, the devout Innana, with such atrocity and violence that could only please the red. The punishment for these crimes is burning. Only by the grace of the divine, come here and now to wipe clean your name, might you be saved.”

Lucilius snorted.

The Draph said, as he took a torch from the hands of one of the men who had bound Lucilius, “May you find your peace in the blue.”

And, just before the flame could drop to the kindling, the world was bathed in white light.

Here came the divine descended, on six white wings, to spare the soul of innocent Juno.

* * *

Belial folded his hands behind his head.

Lucilius shoved a chest full of books at him.

Belial, taking the chest with an _oop_ , stared curiously in Lucilius’ direction. “Are you mad at me?”

Silence was his answer. Lucilius was making quick work of his archives. Everything in the living quarters could be discarded, but the reports, the notes, the volumes, they could not be sacrificed. Lucifer, obedient to the end, took stacks of chests out through the front door. They would be delivered soon enough to the airship awaiting them.

“Cil?” pressed Belial.

“Had Lucifer not descended I would have gone up in flames,” snapped Lucilius, dumping another bookshelf into a silver-lined box. “Then I would have had to slaughter the townspeople myself. You were _late_ , Belial.”

“You two seemed to have it figured out,” he defended, hoisting the chest onto his shoulder. “And this way, you can stick around! The people think you’re exalted. Why are we cleaning shop?”

“Do not ask questions you already know the answer to.”

Belial sighed. “Oookay.”

Lucifer waited demurely in the doorway. Belial entertained himself with thoughts of the last time this had happened. Lucilius _had_ been put to the stakes, set aflame, and when the fire turned from red to blue, he’d killed an entire island who thought it was their right to judge him unholy.

It was very sexy.

Lucilius shoved another box into his hips and his dick. Belial whined. “Do you think that I spent years creating you,” Lucilius challenged, “so that you might daydream and waste my time?”

“Sometimes,” admitted Belial. Lucilius kicked him in the knee. Belial buckled for dramatic effect, but he wasn’t stupid enough to drop anything. His kindness was returned with a world-weary scoff.

“The Speaker is dead. He is going to emerge again, but not here. Moreover,” said Lucilius, who liked the drone of his own voice -- Belial did too -- “the people have witnessed the similarities between Lucifer and I. They are awestruck for the moment. Soon enough, they will begin to question.”

“You could be the brother of an angel. What’s so wrong with that?” Belial asked, glancing over to Lucifer. Lucifer was looking back and forth between them.

“My identity has been compromised. I will find a new place to continue my research and resume the hunt,” Lucilius declared with finality.

He gestured to a stack of chests and Lucifer took it without complaint. Six brilliant wings opened to help him fly the weight out of the door. There was a softness to Lucilius’ gaze as he watched Lucifer go that Belial wanted to capture in his hands.

That softness changed-- cracked around the edges when his eyes met Belial’s. There was something deeper there, a want and a hatred and a host of feelings difficult to pin. Belial knew he was in love. Lucilius was still struggling with the idea.

Also: killing the Creator’s Speaker over and over again.

When the last of the chests were brought to the airship -- when the house had been burnt to ashes -- when they were aboard the airship and behind closed doors, only then did some of the tension seep out of Lucilius’ spine. He permitted Belial’s proximity, but only just. Belial turned the oil lamp low and watched Lucifer turn his back to them in the room’s second bed. Belial came to his knees behind Lucilius, mattress sinking beneath him, and his fingers began their gentle work.

Lucilius sighed as knots and snags were persuaded out of his muscles. If he felt the kisses pressed to his spine, he dismissed them. He shut his eyes, remembered the terrible evening.

* * *

Innana had not objected to having his four limbs tied to stakes. He had watched with sickly fascination as Belial drew the pentagram beneath and around him. He laughed, inexplicably, when blood was robbed from his palm, poured down into the earth.

* * *

Two days ago, Juno and Innana had met at the edge of the forest. Innana had followed Juno into the depths. There, he had seen the work of an alchemist, or a witch, and he had not cried in terror and fled. He had merely gathered up the layers of his skirts and leaned close, whispered,

“ _Are you the one who makes people whole_?”

Juno--Lucilius--had scoffed at the question. “I am an alchemist. I can turn blood to gold. I can do as I please.” A wave of his hand had brought forth Belial and Lucifer, floating on their wings. Innana had gasped. “I have made beasts of crimson and divine. What I do is not the devil’s work. It is shaping the world to my needs.”

Innana had grown more shy in the presence of two men, tall and perfect. Belial had hooked his thumbs in his belt loops and looked away. “When I was born,” Innana confessed, “I was not-- they said I was not whole. I was different. My body. They chose what I should be: they told me I would be a girl. But I think… I think that was not right.”

“You are a man,” Lucilius told him dully.

“I’m not sure. Possibly. I think so. I am not, at least, a woman,” Innana replied. Then came his wish. “Can you change me? Can you make me into what I was supposed to be?”

“It’s complicated. If you are prepared for the risks, I can certainly try.”

Innana had brought his hands together with Lucilius’ and smiled in that eternal, dazzling way. “Please. I care not what it takes.”

Then, Lucilius had canted his head, doing well to hide his disgust, and said, “Bring yourself here tomorrow evening. Be ready to offer yourself up. Now go.”

Innana had scrambled to his feet. He’d nodded furiously. He dashed off in a dizzy of skirts. Belial, then, had hovered close, whistled. “You’re really going to be kind to the Speaker’s incarnation? I thought you were going to bury the knife in his chest here and now.”

Lucilius had looked at him sharply, then softer, and then glanced away, smoothing out his robes beneath him. “I offer him no kindness.”

* * *

One evening ago, Innana had chatted excitedly to Lucilius as he paced the small clearing, readying Innana for alchemy. “They call you a woman. A witch. Are you?”

“I am a man,” said Lucilius without patience. “Your people assume everyone wearing robes must be female. They are ignorant.”

Innana had continued. “What’s your name, then? Juno is a girl’s name.”

“Lucilius.”

“Lucilius…!” Innana tasted the name on his tongue. Lucilius froze up at the sound of it, fingers curling tight around his text. Innana did not notice. “I suppose I should have to find my own name, as well!”

“Helel.”

“Pardon?”

“Helel. Helel ben Shahar,” Lucilius intoned quietly.

“... I must think about it,” Innana said, softer. His excitement rose again when Belial stepped away from the circle and Lucifer came forward, extending his hands. “Oh! Are you beginning?”

Lucilius joined him, holding Lucifer’s arm as his conduit. “Quiet. Concentrate on your desired form.”

Innana had shut his eyes firmly. Lucifer had begun to utter the equations out loud. Lucilius directed the power, his free hand an orchestrator as a crimson glow enveloped the Speaker’s incarnation.

There was light, and blood. So much blood. Belial sat off to the side, knee to his chest, as Innana emerged with agonised laughter.

“Thank you,” Innana said, over and over again. He had the form he wished for -- a broad, flat chest, a body echoing the kiss of Adam.

He’d laughed, kissing his gratitude to the stars, and then he’d died.

* * *

“You partook of his blood?” Lucilius murmured, flat against the mattress now, Belial pressing in beside him.

“Yeah. All better,” he promised, dragging Lucilius into his arms. It was too warm and too cold at the same time. Lucilius surrendered uncomfortably. Belial kissed the top of his head. “They didn’t even try to blame you for the death of those priests. Guess they thought I was some crimson come out of nowhere.”

Belial had disposed of them but not without tears in his wings. Lucilius reached out, and they emerged for him. He felt them over, finding the leathery skin as solid as it should be. His hand retreated and so did the cloak of black.

“I’ve been at this too long to go down to some nobodies. Trust me, sweetie,” Belial said.

“Never call me that again,” snapped Lucilius, disappearing shortly under the veil of sleep.

And Belial disobeyed him, and called him every loving name he could think of until the morning came.

* * *

The next fragment emerged some five odd years later. This time, he came in the form of a priest. He saw Lucilius and _knew_. Lucifer ran his sword through him, and it was over without any clamour or drama. Lucifer withdrew his bloodied blade and Helel collapsed in a heap.

“Arrogant scum,” spat Lucilius, kicking the body.

“No need to be so mean to the dead,” soothed Belial. “Though I suppose he’s not really dead. Where do you think the next one is going to crop up?”

“Delos.” Lucilius spoke without any doubt. “He is drifting closer and closer to the holy island. No doubt we will have little time to stop the Creator’s Arrival in the coming years.”

Belial hummed. Lucifer, usually silent, took this time to speak. Lucilius hung off of his every word like an insect to honey. “My friend… how long must this ceaseless violence continue?”

A tired look gathered on Lucilius’ face, for Lucifer’s benefit alone. Belial studied it from the corner of his eye. “So long as the Speaker continues to return. Do you wish to lose this world and your existence?”

“I do not. I simply…” Lucifer trailed off.

Lucilius allowed him too long of a space for his silence. The air grew colder and the night curled its hands towards them. Belial clapped his own, breaking the moment apart. “Let’s not get soft. You know what I always say. Try to keep the parade rolling.”

Lucilius turned to him scornfully, and that was enough.

“Prepare a ship to Delos. I do not want to see you unless you have news of its arrival.”

Belial saluted him, his heart bursting with love. “You’ve got it, chief.”

He departed, content in the knowledge that neither Lucilius nor Lucifer would shatter the ice between them.

* * *

This Speaker was stubborn.

He had appealed, over and over again, for Lucilius to reconsider his plans. The disgusting part about it? He wasn't arguing for his life. He simply wanted to see the heavens open up and doom them all.

Helel argued to his last breath, which was squeezed out by both of Lucilius' hands at his throat. He hadn't fought back. In the end, there was no need for the disguises or the deception. He saw right through it.

Lucilius was stripping out of his habit; Lucifer was doing the same. Belial sat back and watched them, hands folded over his chest, legs crossed at the ankle. The body of the Speaker was the friend leaning on his shoulder.

Lucilius pulled up his habit to reveal the thigh highs beneath and the Speaker hit the floor. Lucilius glared at him. Lucifer stared, concern unwavering. "Something tickled my funny bone," explained Belial. Lucilius balled up his veil and threw it at him.

"You are remarkably useless when it comes to doing anything related to your mission."

Belial gave an insulted sniff. "I brought you the clothes, didn't I? I found you the convent, didn't I?"

The Speaker this time was a nun. Belial had thought they were done with the stupidly devout, but he was very much wrong.

Religion ebbed and flowed in popularity throughout the islands. The names of the gods were not always the same. When plague ruined a crop, the sky-dwellers beseeched Alexiel. When kingdoms nudged against each other ungraciously, men cursed Gabriel's apathy. The centuries passed. The intent was the same. _Keep us safe from ourselves._

Lucifer brought him back with a hand upon his shoulder. "Belial."

"Hmm?"

"The body."

"Okaaaay."

He dispensed of the body the same way he dispensed of everything else: with the delicacy of a man who only cared about one thing. He came back through the window, wings folding into him, to see a most interesting sight in the small confessionary. 

Lucifer’s lips on Lucilius’. Lucilius, kissing Lucifer back.

He hung there, hands gripping the windowsill, feet braced slightly apart. They did not appear to notice him. Even when he cleared his throat, they came apart slowly, like two caterpillars tugging apart before their disembarkation to their cocoons.

“You are returned,” Lucifer observed softly. It was the lack of judgement, or agitation, or surprise in his voice that stoked the hot fires of jealousy in Belial most of all. No; it hadn’t been the moment of the kiss. It was, rather, to find that he was not considered a threat at all.

“No need to stop on my account!” Belial answered with boisterous volume, his curved voice bouncing off the stone walls. If the sisters were here, they would clutch their rosaries and make signs against the crimson. “Or maybe do?” He hopped into the room. “Two’s a tango, but three’s a party.”

“If you are quite done with yourself,” Lucilius said, lowering down the sleeves of his white robes, “and done with the body, then our purpose here is finished. You _did_ , of course--”

“Of course I did.” Belial cut off, with little desire to suffer Lucilius’ usual distrust. He waved a hand through the air, like swiping away the sticky romantic tension. “Nobody will find him. More importantly, the next him won’t be able to find himself.”

“I pray that he finds peace,” Lucifer murmured, and found himself cowed when both Lucilius and Belial stared at him oddly. “... we are masquerading as nuns, are we not? I thought the gesture appropriate.”

Lucilius waited a breath, and then he said, “The peace of the Speaker means the tidefall of this world. May we pray to the crimson--or whatever drivel they’ve come up with--that he stays lost forever.”

“Hear, hear,” Belial agreed, and he pulled Lucilius back and behind.

The kiss wasn’t entirely unexpected. Lucilius had the good sense to brace one of his feet back as Belial tugged his face around, and he grounded himself by holding onto the dais. Belial lurched into his mouth and found the taste of his god. Lucilius rocked back into him, meeting him halfway, offering the wisdom of silent words on a moving tongue.

They parted with heavy sighs and a sly, satisfied grin on Belial’s face. That grin was presently turned Lucifer’s direction. Lucilius, still in the midst of catching his breath, watched with no small amount of humour as Lucifer was dragged into the fold.

“How fortunate, Lucifer. Two kisses instead of one,” remarked Lucilius dryly. His creation looked at him, chest rising and falling in spasmodic electric bursts. Belial came to hang his arm around Lucilius’ shoulder, looking out over the space that was Lucifer.

“Ask me any time, darling. I’m happy to oblige.”

They’d lived for centuries. A kiss or two had not gone untested. But this was the first time Belial made a bold declaration of it. “We do,” he laughed, “have forever on our side.”

An eternity of chasing fragments of the Speaker.

* * *

In a dream, he remembered a moment from long ago.

“Why is it we kill the Speaker?” asked Lucifer, small, always looking for an excuse to hold Belial’s hand. “If the death of his incarnations scatters further shards across the land, does our work not exponentially increase?”

Big words for a body that looked little more than a child. When they were conceived, their brains were already perfect.

Lucilius had stooped to them. Belial pressed a hand to his knee. The messiah had said, “There is, in the universe, a measurement so small that beneath it, no alchemical changes can occur. This is called the Planck length.”

Lucifer asked for the measure; Lucilius told him it was a number so tiny it would be pointless to give it voice. Belial asked the smarter question: “You think quantum states won’t affect the Speaker?”

Studying him, Lucilius gave the barest hint of a nod. “At quantum levels, the Speaker sacrifices his identity. He becomes molecules. Identity stands at the diving board of the Planck length.”

Lucilius had said that. Lucifer had asked many more questions, soft and inquisitive in those days. Belial, instead, had sat aside, head without contingencies to plans, nor the need for a body pressed against his own.

It was, for a while, a peaceful time. It was just for them.

* * *

Hausos was mourned.

It was not strange for the Speaker to be mourned. Sometimes Lucilius was caught in the murders, and at other times he was flagrant, allowing those who loved the fragment of voice to whirl in agony at the inevitable. Why not grant them the same taste of suffering pushed into Lucilius’ hands two thousand years ago?

“I’ll kill you,” promised the small one--Djeeta--clutching the remains of her husband to her chest. “I’ll kill you,” she repeated against the corpse of the man stolen from Laconia.

It was an empty threat. Her ship was burning, burnt, ash. Her crew had either abandoned her in fright or died at her feet. She stood, now, at the pointed end of Lucilius’ lance, the dying spark in her eyes a glint in the blue spearhead.

“Nike!” screamed Djeeta, “Nike of Samothrance, I curse you to the depths of the Crimson Horizon!”

Lucilius ran her through. She died clutching her second spouse to her chest. Her first, Percival, had gone down with the ship.

With business concluded, Belial clapped his hands together. “What’s the clean-up plan, boss?”

Shaking his head, Lucilius uttered, “This was a united battle against two crews. They have lost. It will be seen as an honourable defeat.” But he looked over, and something appeared to startle him.

Belial looked to his right, and he was startled, too. Lucifer, with his back always so straight, his face a mask, was now touching his cheek. Tears were pouring from his eyes.

Lucilius made a concerned sound that Belial was immediately jealous of. “What is wrong, Lucifer?” he asked, coming forth, holding his creation by the shoulders. “Do you feel palpitations in your core? Tell me.”

Lucifer, however, shook his head, and Belial narrowed his eyes in understanding. “I feel,” he began, and stopped. He cupped his hands over his eyes. His wings folded around him as a barrier. “I believe this feeling is sorrow. It has captured me whole. What must I do to escape this, my friend?”

Sorrow for the death of two lovers entwined. Lucifer always had a soft spot. Lucilius did not. He answered tightly, “Nothing will bring you peace. They are dead and the Creator’s Arrival is forestalled. You will accept this outcome and continue to accompany me.”

Lucifer shut his eyes. “As you wish, my friend.”

Lucilius chose to leave the bodies there as a reminder to the island of what they faced. That it calmed some of the hiccups in Lucifer’s breath was of no consequence. That Belial realised the true purpose, the mercy behind the action, was better left unsaid.

* * *

Once, Lucilius had been lover to the Speaker.

Once, Lucilius had been in love.

The ideas did not sound distinct but they were.

Belial pieced together the story himself. Lucilius confirmed it, later, when Lucifer asked at the head of his knee, always so intent to have _reason_ to cross blades with another man.

Once upon a time, when the skies beloved guardian angels more than the gods, and alchemy was not blaspheme but the art of life, Lucilius and the Speaker _were_.

Twelve disciples followed the Speaker as he traveled the blue and preached the words of the Creator. Later, those twelve disciples would be deified on their funeral pyres and become the gods of tomorrow. But before that was so--

The birth. ( _Lilith pressed Abei’s head beneath the waters to give him life anew. When Abei came up for air, Lilith smiled at him, and Abei took them into his embrace, kissing them tightly._ )

The cradle. ( _Seven cities did Lilith visit and preach the greatness of the Creator. Lilith performed their miracles: the blind given sight; the lepers healed; the lost lovers reunited._ )

The eristic. ( _Lilith’s gaunt smile as they told Abei of the world’s coming rebirth. What better fate than to be consumed and given life anew?_ )

The iscariot. ( _Sugar of lead and bluestone for Lilith’s life. Abei saw them shattered._ )

The ascension. ( _Twelve disciples turned into stars. Abei turned lead into Belial. Lilith turned a shard into a promise, and they were born again._ )

 **The end will come**.

The Speaker’s promise. It was the natural way of things. And as disciples became gods and alchemy became the crimson path, Lucilius took a name and a trial.

Lucilius had once been lover to the Speaker, but never in love with the fragments-- only Lilith.

Perhaps it was that love that drove him, two thousand years of extinguishing the smouldering ash of their remains.

Perhaps it was betrayal.

Perhaps, as was the natural way of things, Lucilius chose to subsist as the only rock that dammed revival, but his eyes wandered, and his feelings could be changed.

Lucilius looked at Belial now and Belial found his skin growing red. Six wings framed him. Lucifer had a terrible habit of unfurling his wings when he was kissed, as if he wished to hide Lucilius away from the Creator.

Lucilius smiled.

“I hate the Speaker,” he repeated. “I hate this world.”

Breathless, Lucifer pressed his next question: “Then why do you fight it, my friend?”

An outstretched hand to beckon. Belial swayed forward and took it in his own-- no. He was drawn forward, pulled into the circle of Lucilius’ command.

“If there is anything I hate more,” he whispered to the both of them, “it is the thought of living without the two of you. Lucifer.”

Lucifer’s breath hitched.

“Belial.”

Belial flushed.

Lucilius grinned, a perfect expression that could only belong to him.

“Wouldst thou like to live deliciously?”

* * *

Unlike in every other way, every other time, Belial came first. He was pressed down into the soft spring grass. Lucifer caught him by the mouth and kissed him, setting fire to a thousand ships inside of his core. His pulse ricocheted; Lucilius peeled him out of his clothes. By the time oil-steeped fingers had stretched him open and wide, he felt tears poking at the corners of his eyes, unsure whose voice to offer in praise.

“It will hurt,” cautioned Lucifer, kissing Belial at the corner of his lips. Belial stared, awestruck, at the slim curves of Lucilius’ body. He should have paid more attention to the leather belt he strapped on, the bronze implement standing erect at the front, but-- but.

“Please,” begged Belial, and Lucilius calmed the ache in his heart with a slow kiss. His lips were left burning. When Lucilius had pulled away, and Lucifer had cushioned Belial’s head into his lap, Belial laughed impossibly, “You can’t tell me I’m the virgin here.”

The side of Lucifer’s mouth lifted in a rare smile. “We have experimented. Many times, it was for your sake.”

“And others,” Lucilius was quick to add, “were for ours.” He and Lucifer shared that smile over Belial’s head. Belial felt the looming presence of death at his door.

“Relax yourself,” instructed Lucifer, rubbing the tension points in Belial’s neck. Heedless of his warnings, Belial strained his head to watch Lucilius coating the bronze cock--and it was a cock--with a liberal amount of the same oil inside of him now. Lucilius did not react to his rapt attention, but continued with the same motions, making the whole thing seem like an alchemical process.

Belial lay his head back down and realised, with the smallest thoughts left in his brain, that he was terrified. What he was terrified of, he could not quite say. Was it knowing that he could never compare to Lucifer (Lucifer, who stared at him tenderly, stroking his hair); was it knowing that his dreams and reality were criss-crossing in a scramble (for every night he thought of this); or was it the waiting, the expectation, like a bride as night fell on her wedding?

The thoughts shattered into little stars when Lucilius pressed forward into him. He slid in with as little resistance as Belial could muster. Belial, even still, tightened on the breath caught in his throat, scarcely feeling the tender thumbs Lucifer swept over his face and shoulders to calm him. He felt the white-hot of Lucilius’ hands adjusting his hips more than anything; Lucilius pulled him forward, drew one of his shins against his own cheek, and Belial thought he might faint.

Shooting stars united in their paths above Lucilius’ head. Belial’s vision was white, then dark, then a kaleidoscope. He blinked his eyes open wide. He had the whole of the night sky, with its thousand stars and gods before him; beneath that, the tips of the forest trees were tipped white with winter’s chill. (Or was that the dance of Lucifer’s hair above his head?) Then the world came up to meet him, and his vision was filled with Lucilius, bowed towards his chest, bearing down with his weight to bring the bronze cock into Belial completely.

Lucilius eased out again with a slow sigh and Belial thought his entire body would come out with him. Lucilius was quick to seal him up again, bottoming out, and Belial gave a shiver, begun in his fingertips and spreading to the rest of his body. Lucifer gave him hands to hold on to.

“Does it feel good?” asked Belial over his own moans, softer, then louder as the motions came easier and they were rocking together.

Lucilius scoffed. “The tool does not belong to me. I feel nothing from it. Did you think I had grafted it onto my skin?”

Belial bit his lip and shuddered when the cock brushed against something white and hot inside of him. Lucilius paused, too, observing his reaction with blown pupils. Even Lucifer gave a pleased sigh. “Do you like it?” persisted Belial.

“... I do not find it disagreeable.”

 _Not disagreeable_. Belial came for the first time on the back of a mild remark. Lucilius sneered at him for finishing without even being touched. Lucifer murmured consolations above his head, suggesting the technique for next time, and Lucilius gave a furtive nod. Next time, for further experimentation.

But Belial, filled with the weight inside of him, did not want to end. “More,” he pleaded, drawing Lucilius’ amused smile towards him again. He raked a hand across his stomach. “More. Cil…”

“I doubt you could stand more,” remarked Lucilius, hiding his smirk behind his hand now.

It was Lucifer, however, who stirred. “My friend…”

They spoke without words. Lucilius stilled above Belial, and Belial understood where they were headed. In his haste, he rose to his elbows, lowering his leg from Lucilius’ hold. “Leave the thing inside of me,” he blurted out. “Let me watch you.”

Lucifer smiled at this, too. “He wants to watch us, my friend,” he said, casting a glance to Lucilius.

“I heard him,” Lucilius replied on the back of a laugh. It was buried in his chest but Belial caught the hint of it and clung to it. “How shall we proceed, Lucifer? What is your taste of butter?”

Lucifer lowered Belial carefully to the grass. In the next moment, he had Lucilius caught up in his arms. He held him gently, but not against the ground, cupping his creator’s body against his own. It was an act of worship that Belial wanted to participate in. “Let me inside of you, as you were with Belial. I was…”

“He got hard,” Belial added helpfully, earning a scornful look from Lucilius. “I felt it against my cheek.”

Before Lucifer could apologise, and he would, for he was Lucifer, Lucilius gave a nod. “If you would like me, Lucifer, then you shall have me.”

Lucifer used his wings as a buoy.

He did not lift himself or Lucilius off of the ground, but he kept the both of them suspended in an upright position. The pull of his wings towards the air kept the pressure off of Lucilius’ back and hips. Lucifer did rain down upon Lucilius many kisses, from head to toe and arm to leg, carving out impatient desire in Belial and lighting his blood. He only stopped when Lucilius growled, with a voice full of want, “Get _on_ with it.” And Belial knew that he would have not ceased until given the very same instruction.

Lucilius was much smaller in the arms of another than he was pressed atop Belial. He shuddered with every inch of Lucifer that slid into his him, heedless to the oil and minutes of preparation he’d received. He groped around blindly for something along the ground and scowled when he did not find it. Belial observed him, hand already wrapped around his growing hardness, when Lucilius speared him with an angry stare. “Come over here,” he ordered, and Belial could only obey.

They rocked. Lucifer held Lucilius’ legs apart at the knees and pushed into him. When he entered, Lucilius would exhale the breath caught in his chest, stroking up Belial’s cock. Lucifer’s retreat would make Lucilius inhale and push his fingers downward. In the midst of the action, Belial interrupted wherever he could, claiming kisses from Lucilius and sometimes Lucifer, too.

When his tongue stalled Lucifer for too long Lucilius kicked him in the shin. “Stop that.”

“Ow!” yelped Belial, scooting closer. Lucilius tightened his grip on his cock.

“Do not distract from my pleasure -- ah. Oh. _Lucifer_. Lucifer…”

A jealous, vain creature to the end, Belial wrapped Lucilius up in his next kiss. And he did not stop until Lucilius was moaning his name in equal measure, even after Lucifer had spilled himself inside, even after Belial had covered Lucilius’ hand and hips in his second round.

It was a delightful sight indeed to see Lucifer play with Lucilius’ clitoris while still seated in his ass. Lucilius sighed, which was as close to a cry as he would come.

Belial gave praise to the scars on Lucilius’ chest and brought him to his end.

* * *

Twelve wings made an awful cocoon. It was Lucifer’s fashion to wrap Lucilius up after they had made love. When Belial added himself to the mix, Lucilius cursed and smacked him away, complaining of the heat.

“Can I just say,” began Belial, rolling onto his stomach, folding his heels towards his back.

“Do not start,” cautioned Lucilius. He glared.

“What?” asked Lucifer, and Lucilius sighed, burying himself further into his endless sea of white robes.

“Can I just say,” Belial said, “that Cil has _the_ best thrust-to-weight ratio I have ever seen.”

Lucifer was cowed by the cleverness of his comment. Belial grinned with all of his teeth. Lucilius peeked one eye out to study him, and replied, unamused, “It’s the _only_ ratio you’ve ever seen.”

“I was saving myself for youuuu,” Belial crooned, and Lucilius was not interested, disappearing back into his robes. Belial came upon him and curled against his back, and when that did not work, he dragged Lucilius into him and pressed their bodies together. Lucilius grunted unhappily.

“You too, princess,” Belial sighed, tugging Lucifer into the mess. They fell in a tangle of limbs, but soon arrived at the happy conclusion of one angel to each side of Lucilius. The span of Lucifer’s wings was wide enough to shield the three of them together, a blanket against the open night.

But how could they remain in silence while they woke? Belial had a tongue that could not stop lashing, and Lucifer, when the quiet was ripe enough, gave voice to his doubts.

He did so first, leaning in to the curve of Lucilius’ cheek. “My friend,” he said, and then, “Belial.” He borrowed their attention together. “If this is to continue… not this fashion,” he dismissed, shaking his head. He did not mean the union of their bodies or the complication of love there. “If we are to continue hunting down the Speaker, will there ever be an end?”

“We’re immortal,” Belial pointed out, his chin resting on one of Lucilius’ forearms. “Cil is immortal too. And we can regenerate from most nasty things. Praise be to alchemy.”

Lucifer shut his eyes. “Can our will carry through to eternity?”

“Do you think we’ll get bored and shut down?” Belial questioned.

Lucifer, shaking his head, murmured, “I worry more for our creator.”

Both of them turned their gaze to the man in the white robes. He looked back at them, a moment spent meeting each pair of eyes. Eventually, for there must be an answer, he replied, “You forget yourselves. As alchemical beasts, you do not have limits to your stamina. I, however, am still human.”

At once, Lucifer began falling to his nerves. “My friend. I am sorry to question you while you are in pain--”

“It’s a simple ache. Nothing more.”

“Yet, it was my folly to do so--”

“Give the man a break,” sighed Belial, putting a hand on Lucifer’s chest. It slowed him down, but the pinch to his brows was still there. “Cil just likes to complain. Don’t you, Cil?”

“Die immediately,” Lucilius said, without venom.

Belial chuckled.

Lucilius rolled over and the wings before his eyes opened. The heavens, where twelve disciples of the Speaker rested, glowed in the night. He looked as if he could feel the Creator’s march in his chest like a drum. Belial wanted to pull apart his hair and crawl inside of his head, nest there like a parasite to eat away all of his worries.

Lucifer studied him with a gentleness, but Belial knew he shared the same thought.

“I will not rest,” Lucilius said quietly, “until all traces of the Speaker are eradicated from this world. When such a time comes to pass, I will know the both of you are safe.”

“So…”

Lucilius looked at him dangerously. Belial trudged on without worry.

“You won’t stop until it’s over because you love us.”

“My friend,” Lucifer said, his voice full of emotion.

Lucilius physically drew one of Lucifer’s wings over himself and turned back to the grass. “Believe what you will. Your opinions have no effect on the course I chart.”

“Aw. Cifer, he’s getting shy. Our creator, shy! Can you believe it?”

Lucifer didn’t look as if he could. However, his expression eased with a moment’s passage, and he drew near.

So did Belial.

“My friend.”

“I love you too.”

Lucilius grunted.


End file.
